The Gnome: A Fan Fiction for 'Gardening Simulator' a game by Excalibur Publishing by Fred Ray
The old man stared at the gnome; the intensity of his gnome staring was so great that his forehead veins were throbbing like the ego of Justin Beiber's hair stylist. As he observed the brilliant details of the gnome he experienced a sudden epiphany, he no longer hated his parents for making him dress as a fairy on the first day of school – he realised, only now, that the fairy dress shaped him as an individual and enabled him to mature into a successful man.
He no longer feared death – for he realised that without death there can be no life, and if there was life it would become boring as hell after about 200 years, and would then become a curse. he no longer loved his wife and children, as he realised that they had been laughing at his gnome related obsessions behind his back. As everything that was normal to him suddenly became irrelevant – and he severed all links with the outside world – he grabbed the gnome and plunged it into his chest – committing a final act of defiance against the world that had been so intolerant of him.
The man sat, he could not see, as he had no eyes. He could not breathe, for he had no lungs. He could not scream, for he had no mouth. He could not think, for the last spark of life had left his brain. So he sat, had he been able to see he would have noticed his family, they noticed him. His wife ran to his corpse and cried, she saw the gnome.
The gnome noticed her.
The gnome sat. The gnome could not speak, for it had no mouth. It could not breathe, for it had no lungs. But it did notice, and it made a careful note of this notice – for it was a strange new sensation. For a gnome, the very act of noticing is far beyond the norm, in fact being able to consciously recognise a feeling of notice is so far beyond the norm that this gnome could no longer be considered a gnome.
The thing noticed her.
And the wife noticed the thing.
The thing was filthy, it had spent a large amount of its time in filth, and a very short amount of time in a corpse, for this reason it was filthy. The wife grabbed the thing, and cleaned it.
The clean thing sat proudly, it was no longer an item of filth, but an item to be proud of – for it was clean, and when clean a whole range of social opportunities arise. This did not concern the thing, for social opportunities where not one of its main concerns.